On the day of high school graduation, in front of the entire class, I slapped a stack of cash onto Christian's chest. "I've had my fun. We're done." He bent down, picking up the bills one by one from the floor. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "Okay." Summer ended. Christian boarded a train to Harvard Med. I flew to Switzerland to start a grueling round of chemo. Years later, I was back in the States, lying in a hospital bed, bald from the treatment. I was busy scrolling through wigs on my phone when the door opened. Christian, wearing a white coat, walked in. Our eyes met. 1 When Christian walked in, I was in a very undignified position—butt in the air, face buried in the pillow. My phone was blasting a livestream: "Black Friday sale! Don't miss out, fam!" "Ms. Montez, shopping for wigs again?" The noisy ward fell silent. The nurse pointed at me. "Dr. Vance, this is the new patient for your group. She's signed the consent forms." The moment Christian looked over, I froze. My brain went blank. It had been ten years. The man I thought I'd never see again was now my attending physician. And he caught me doing yoga stretches on a hospital bed. Kill me now. I scrambled up, adjusting my crooked face mask. Silence. I didn't dare look him in the eye, but I could feel his gaze on me. It was cold. Zero warmth. Nothing like the gentle, exasperated look he used to give me when I messed up a math problem. "Ms. Montez, this is Professor Christian Vance. He'll be in charge of your treatment plan." I avoided his eyes and gave a quick nod. Didn't make a sound. The intern next to him, holding a clipboard, started reading my history like a good student. "Luna Montez, female, 28. Ten years ago, a physical revealed enlarged cervical lymph nodes. Initial diagnosis was Non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Further pathology showed—" "Skip the history." "Huh? Do you know the patient, sir?" My heart was in my throat. I pretended to be busy with my phone. I felt Christian's gaze land on my ridiculous sheep-horn beanie. After a long pause, he said flatly, "I don't know her. Her case is unique, so I reviewed it beforehand." My phone auto-jumped to the checkout page. The payment countdown was ticking. Seconds passed. I zoned out, finger hovering over the "Buy" button but never pressing it. The intern dutifully reported the treatment plan. Christian listened, his tone devoid of emotion. "Okay. Continue current treatment. Re-examine tomorrow." Then, he moved to the next patient. Rounds lasted twenty minutes. He didn't look at me again until he left. I moved my stiff neck and realized my back was soaked in sweat. The wig I wanted was sold out because of the distraction. Ugh, just my luck. But the silver lining was: Christian had forgotten me. Even when the intern said my name, he didn't react. 2 Christian and I didn't start off on the right foot. Back in high school, I was a rich brat—terrible grades, worse attitude. My homeroom teacher made Christian my desk mate to "influence" me. At first, Christian ignored me. He just did practice tests, over and over. He was smart, nice, handsome. His only flaw was being poor. I was the opposite. Dumb, mean, rich. Sitting next to him, I felt like a brainless ATM. But I had charm. While other girls wrote him love letters, I bought him SAT prep books. I paid for all his study materials. In less than a semester, I bagged him. The day I kissed Christian, it was his birthday. His white shirt was rumpled, his lips stained with my lipstick. He looked down, eyes hooded. "What does this mean?" It was my first time kissing a guy. My brain short-circuited. I stammered, "D-don't you get it? Be my boyfriend." Christian's ears turned red. He whispered, "Okay." Those days were beautiful. I hated studying, but I sat obediently next to him, letting him tutor me. In a year, my SAT score went up by 300 points. I calculated it—I could get into a college in Boston. No long-distance relationship necessary. If only that physical hadn't happened... "Ugh—" The sound of me retching echoed in the ward. I hugged the toilet bowl, seeing stars, covered in cold sweat. My bestie patted my back. "This isn't working. You're reacting too strongly. I'm getting a doctor." I grabbed her hand. "Don't. I'm used to it." Twenty-seven rounds of chemo abroad, all alone. I survived that. I fought for ten years. Now it's back. Who knows how much longer I'll suffer? I didn't want to be the annoying patient. My bestie wouldn't let it go. "Isn't Christian your doctor? I'll find him. He'll help." I hugged her leg. "Girl, please. Be quiet. You should be glad he didn't recognize me. If he did, he'd prescribe a hundred rounds of chemo just for spite." "Who told you that you need a hundred rounds?" A cool voice came from behind. I stiffened. I didn't dare turn around. My bestie sighed in relief. "Dr. Vance, Luna isn't feeling well—" "It's a normal reaction to chemo. If she can't handle it..." I didn't hear the rest. My brain was screaming: Did he hear what I just said? 3 That evening, a nurse came to give me an anti-nausea shot. She probed, "Do you know Professor Vance?" I flopped onto the bed, dead inside. "Nope. Why?" "He never micromanages like this. He specifically went to the attending physician and ordered this shot for you." I looked in the mirror. Gaunt. Pale. Sickly. Compared to ten years ago, I looked like a different species. Impossible... Christian has a good memory, but— Wait. He has a great memory. What if he's holding a grudge? The name "Luna Montez" was on the chart. How could I think he wouldn't know? My bestie chimed in, "Your Professor Vance is only 28, right? A professor so young?" "Wow, you know your stuff! He did an accelerated MD-PhD program. Graduated at like 26. He's a unicorn. Regular people can't compare." Seeing my bestie's interest, the nurse laughed. "Planning to chase him? Save your energy. He's taken." My bestie winked at me. Then the nurse added, "The Dean's daughter. Ivy League grad. They might get married any day now." My bestie's smile froze. I picked at a loose thread on my hospital gown, suddenly finding it fascinating. After the nurse left, my bestie whispered, "Luna, sorry..." "Eh, what for?" "I'm 28, not 18." The dream of the cold, aloof genius falling for me died ten years ago. 4 I didn't see Christian after that. I heard about him, though. Academic conferences, research labs. He did rounds once a week to check meds. Between chemo cycles, patients could go home. So until I was discharged, I didn't see him. On the way home, my high school class president called. "Luna! You still in Boston? How's treatment?" Background noise was loud. The class rep jumped in. "Why didn't you tell us you were sick? If the Prez didn't mention it, we wouldn't have known." I was popular back then. I still kept in touch. I laughed awkwardly. "Didn't want to bother anyone." "Don't say that. Where do you live? We're coming over tomorrow." I couldn't say no. I gave them the address. My parents spent a fortune on my treatment. Thanks to my bestie, I found a cheap rental in the city. First floor, south-facing yard. If I got better, I could plant flowers, maybe get a dog. Most of my classmates stayed in our hometown. Only a few were scattered around. So only five or six people showed up. They brought groceries. "We were gonna do hotpot, but it's hot. Let's stir-fry." I wore a thick beanie. "It's fine, we have AC. I want hotpot." Everyone swarmed the kitchen. The house came alive. It felt like graduation all over again. The Prez was washing veggies. "Have you contacted Christian?" I froze. "What?" "Dude, didn't you know? He's a hematology expert. specializes in lymphoma. You should ask him." "Oh, I—" I really didn't want to get involved with Christian. Then the doorbell rang. The Prez wiped his hands and opened the door. Cheers erupted. "Christian! You made it!" "Whoa, Professor Vance, long time no see." "Come in! Luna wants hotpot. You're the expert, can she eat it?" I stood there like an idiot. Unwashed face. No mask. Exposed. I never expected them to invite him. Or for him to see me like this. Christian looked at me calmly. "Clear broth is fine." "Okay, okay! Clear broth it is!" Everyone got busy again. Christian changed into the slippers the Prez offered. He handed a bag of fruit to someone in the kitchen. The Prez tried to smooth things over. "Hey, let bygones be bygones. Christian, be the bigger man. Don't hold a grudge against Luna." Someone shoved a colander of spinach into Christian's hands. He was pushed onto the sofa opposite me. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the living room. The AC hummed in the corner. I avoided his eyes, fumbling for the mask in my back pocket. Snap. Christian broke a spinach stem. "I already recognized you. Is there a point in hiding?"
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